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There were just too many things going on at once. They dragged Fabinho down like a sinister octopus, wrapping tentacles around him and changing the way he did everything. The way he thought, the way he played, even the way he slept.
If he really thought about it, most of the things wouldn't have dragged him down in isolation. But the raindrops of loneliness, receiving the snub for the Brazil call ups and Liverpool's poor form this season had added up one by one by one. And when Firmino—his best friend and soul twin—announced he was leaving, that was enough to send the cup overflowing.
Fabinho had been in shock first, then fury when Firmino confirmed that he had decided to leave. It only took a few minutes for him to realize that Firmino wasn’t joking, and he clung to the shorter man, inconsolable. Everybody in Kirkby had been off that day, although the day would have to come.
That day, he learned that nothing lasts forever. And Fabinho would’ve traded his first-team place in the squad, his salary, and his organs to keep Firmino at Liverpool. Heck, he would’ve traded his Copa de America medal. But nothing would prevent Firmino from leaving, because he’d chosen to. Sure, it was for the youngsters, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.
The slips had come little by little, creeping upon Fabinho like a prowling Bengal tiger. It had started with one missed meal.
Klopp held up the bowl of pasta, extending it towards Fabinho. Everybody but him had taken a serving for themselves. “Are you sure you’re not hungry, Flaco? We can get you something else if that’s what you’d like.”
Fabinho shook his head, setting the bowl to the side. “I’m fine. Must’ve eaten too much between meals again.”
One missed meal had become another, only adding to Fabinho’s most famous nickname. And when he did eat, it was small amounts that shouldn’t have filled any man of his size.
Firmino and Alisson picked up on this pretty quickly. Over the international break they invited Fabinho to a barbecue at Firmino’s house, but even though his brother-friends were pretty good cooks Fabinho couldn’t find the appetite.
“More asada?” Firmino offered, flipping the steaks on the grill with a flourish. “It’s your favorite.”
Fabinho blankly stared at the grill. Somehow, even the steak had lost its sizzle and the spices lost their appeal. “Obrigado, but no.”
Alisson laid a hand on Fabinho’s shoulder, examining the younger man with concern. “Are you okay, Flaco? You’ve barely eaten all week.”
Fabinho offered a weak laugh, hoping to assuage Alisson’s concerns. He knew the keeper struggled with his own anxiety and self-worth issues, especially now. “Just trying to lose some weight.”
“Come on Flaco, we’re not stupid,” Firmino argued. “You don’t need to lose any weight, if anything you need to gain a little more. So eat up, okay? We don’t need you turning into a stick on our watch. Your mom would never forgive us!”
Fabinho smiled at the joke, but it hardly reached his eyes. Under the careful watch of the others he ate some of the barbecue, but it failed to bring the spark it always did to his soul.
He’d started eating a little more after that, and for a moment Fabinho genuinely believed that he would be happy again. But then the nights became sleepless; and the colors became gray; and his energy would be down to zero.
The others had tried many times to restore Fabinho back to himself, but to no avail. Fabinho realized how much of a burden he was being to his team, and that fact made him feel worse.
“Flaco! Over here!” Klopp called Fabinho aside after another lackluster performance. He’d walked the tightrope of yellow carding since minute seven, and somehow, he’d survived. But he’d made things harder for his teammates since they had to cover for him—and Klopp would surely be upset.
Head down, Fabinho trudged towards the side of the hall that Klopp was on. He braced himself for a talking-to, but instead felt a pair of strong arms wrap around him in a protective embrace.
“But—I played like crap today.”
“You did not, ” Klopp insisted. “You played excellently, Fabi. Now take a shower and relax, okay? You deserve this.”
Klopp almost never called him Fabi, except when he was serious. Yet Fabinho still couldn’t bring himself to believe his manager’s words. “No I don’t.”
Klopp sighed, resting a hand over Fabinho’s head. “If only I could make you feel like yourself again.”
At the moment, Fabinho hadn’t thought much of it. But as one thing had slipped into another, he realized that Klopp wasn’t that far from the truth. He didn’t feel like himself, no matter how hard he tried. So much, that he was unsure if this was to be his new personality: depressive, bleak and hopeless.
Now Fabinho sat in the locker room, after Liverpool’s 2-2 draw with Arsenal. They had their chances to win, and a draw didn’t help matters at all in the race for European football. Fabinho had his chances to help, but none of them had worked no matter how hard he tried. He felt hopeless; and he was tired of feeling like that day in, day out for nearly five weeks now. It was terrible, it was gray, it was boring, it was…
“Flaco?” Firmino sat next to him, pulling Fabinho in for a hug. “You know you can tell me when something’s wrong, right? What’s the matter?”
Fabinho reached up to touch his cheek, internally cursing himself when he felt the teardrops on them. His best friend had scored the equalizer and a wonderful one at that, he should’ve been celebrating with Firmino and taking him around the whole city on a victory tour. But him and his stupid depressive behavior would get in the way again, just like when Firmino scored vs. Man U.
“I-I’m fine, really. God, you shouldn’t have to put up with me. I’ll go find Ali or someone else, please be happy.” Fabinho tried to get up from the bench, but Firmino held him back.
“Ali is with the fullbacks, he’ll be here soon. And last time I checked,” Firmino pressed a gentle, friendly kiss to Fabinho’s forehead, “you deserve to be happy, too. I can’t see my favorite person suffer like this.”
The statement only made Fabinho tear up more. This is why he’d loved Firmino in the first place: the forward always put others before himself, even when it cost him personally. That was why he’d decided to leave—to let the youngsters have a chance to shine, just like he had for so long.
Firmino wasn’t just a star, he was the whole freakin’ sun . Fabinho simply served as his moon, but he was the happiest moon alive as long as Firmino was around. “ Você me completa.”
Firmino chuckled, clasping Fabinho’s hand as they watched the fullbacks run in screaming like lunatics. “Você também.”